122
" I walked into the kitchen and found Mad Rogan in it. He sat at the table, dressed in a blue Henley shirt and jeans, sipping coffee out of a mug with a little grey kitten on it. His dark hair was combed back from his face. His jaw was once again clean shaven. I am a polite, nonthreatening kind of dragon with excellent manners. Horns are hidden, tail is tucked away, fangs covered. I would never do anything cruel, like stab a man with a knife about ten times to get him to answer a question.
Somehow this new, on-his-best-behavior version was scarier than witnessing him calmly breaking a man with his bare hands. After what we’d been through, I would’ve expected him to hole up somewhere dark, eating raw meat, chain-smoking, guzzling some sort of ridiculously tough drink, like whiskey or kerosene or something, and thinking grim thoughts about life and death. But no, here he was, charming and untroubled, sipping coffee.
Mad Rogan saw me and smiled.
And my mind went right into the gutter. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
123
" Someone stepped through the garage doorway. I squinted against the light. Mad Rogan.
He wore a dark suit. It fit him like a glove, from the broad shoulders and powerful chest to the flat stomach and long legs. Well. A visit from the dragon. Never good.
He started toward me. The track vehicle on his left slid out of his way, as if pushed aside by an invisible hand. The Humvee on his right slid across the floor. I raised my eyebrows.
He kept coming, his blue eyes clear and fixed on me. I stepped back on pure instinct. My back bumped into the wall.
The multiton hover tank hovered off to the wall. So that was the secret to making it work. You just needed Mad Rogan to move it around.
Rogan closed in and stopped barely two inches from me. Anticipation squirmed through me, turning into a giddy excitement spiced with alarm.
“Hi,” I said. “Are you planning on putting all of this back together the way you found it?”
His eyes were so blue. I could look into them forever. He offered me his hand. “Time to go.”
“To go where?”
“Wherever you want. Pick a spot on the planet.”
Wow. “No.”
He leaned forward slightly. We were almost touching. “I gave you a week with your family. Now it’s time to go with me. Don’t be stubborn, Nevada. That kiss told me everything I needed to know. You and I both understand how this ends.”
I shook my head. “How did this encounter go in your head? Did you plan on walking in here, picking me up, and carrying me away like you’re an officer and I’m a factory worker in an old movie?”
He grinned. He was almost unbearably handsome now. “Would you like to be carried away? "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
124
" My back hit the wall. He closed in with an almost terrifying intensity. His muscular body boxed me in.
“Rogan,” I warned. In my head, a song played over and over, singing to me in a seductive voice, Rogan, Rogan, Rogan, sex . . . want . . .
“Remember that dream you had?” His voice was low, commanding.
“Rogan!”
The delicious warmth danced around my neck.
“Where I had no clothes?”
The warmth split and slid over me, over the sensitive nerves in the back of my neck, over my collarbone, around my breasts, cupping them and sliding fast to the tips, tightening my nipples, then sliding down, over my stomach, over my sides and butt, down between my legs. It was everywhere at once, and it flowed over me like a cascade of sensual ecstasy, overloading my senses, overriding my reason, and rendering me speechless. I hurtled through it, trying to sort through the sensations and failing. My head spun.
He was right there, masculine, hot, sexy, so incredibly sexy, and I wanted to taste him. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him to press himself against the aching spot between my legs.
His arms closed around me. His face was too close, his eyes enticing, compelling, excited. “Let’s talk about that dream, Nevada.”
I was trapped. I had nowhere to go. If he kissed me, I would melt right here. I would moan and beg him, and I would have sex with him right here, in the Galleria, in public.
A spark of pain drained down my arm, driven by pure instinct. I grabbed his shoulder. Feathery lightning shot out and singed him.
Agony exploded in me, cleansing like an ice-cold shower.
Rogan’s body jerked, as if struck by an electric current. It lasted only a second, and I didn’t push as hard as I could have. I was learning to control it.
Rogan whipped back to me, his eyes feral. His voice was a ragged growl. “Was that supposed to hurt?”
“It was supposed to get your attention.” I pushed him back with my hand. “You were getting really excited.”
“‘No’ would’ve been sufficient.”
“I wasn’t sure.” I pushed from the wall and headed for the exit. “I said ‘once.’ That was more than once. I wanted you to stop.”
“I was encouraged by you breathlessly moaning my name.”
I spun on my foot. “I wasn’t moaning your name. I was shrieking in alarm.”
“That was the sexiest throaty shrieking I’ve ever heard.”
“You need to get out more.” My cheeks were burning. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
126
" You just hung up on my boss,” I said.
“He was talking in circles. He’ll get over it.”
“You know what your problem is? ‘You’ as in Primes, in general?”
“I think you’re about to tell me.” Mad Rogan leaned forward with rapt attention.
“Your problem is that nobody ever tells you no. You think you can do whatever you want, enter wherever you want . . .”
“Seduce whoever we want.” He grinned, a wicked, wolfish smile.
Oh no, we are not veering off the highway onto that road. “You play with people’s lives. When cops show up, you wave your hand and make them go away. Because you are Primes and the rest of us are, apparently, nothing.”
“Mhm,” he said. “The irony of this is so rich, it’s simply delicious.”
“I don’t see what’s so ironic about it.”
“I’d tell you, but it would ruin the fun.”
“Could you be more smug?”
He leaned on his elbow. “Possibly. I see you liked the flowers.”
I got a sudden urge to set the carnations on fire. “They are gorgeous. It’s not their fault you brought them. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
127
" And the next time you choose to project in my dreams, do keep your clothes on.”
He smiled. It was a very male, self-aware smile, not just sexual but carnal. The predatory look in his eyes turned ravaging. I felt the need to grab a napkin and hold it in front of me like a shield.
“I can project, but I would have to be next to you to do it.”
Oh crap.
His voice turned smooth and sensual. A man had no right to sound like that. “Tell me, what wasn’t I wearing in your dreams?”
I rose, turned my back to him, and walked out.
The sound of his laughter caressed my back, almost like a sexual touch.
Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking. That was dumb. I just had to get that last word in. Would it have killed me to keep my mouth shut? "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
128
" What do you do?” Leon leaned forward. “You left the Army and disappeared. How come?”
“Leon,” Mother warned.
“Is it because of the war?” Lina asked. “People on Herald say you have PTSD and you became a hermit like a monk because of it.”
“Either a hermit or a monk, not both,” I corrected out of habit.
“Herald also said he was disfigured.” Arabella made big eyes.
“Yes, I’m a hermit. Mostly I brood,” Mad Rogan said. “Also I’m very good at wallowing in self-pity. I spend my days steeped in melancholy, looking out the window. Occasionally a single tear quietly rolls down my cheek.”
Arabella and Lina snickered in unison.
“Do you also brush a white orchid against your lips?” Arabella put in.
“While sad music plays in the background?” Lina grinned.
“Perhaps,” Mad Rogan said.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Grandma Frida asked.
I put my hand over my face.
“No,” Mad Rogan said.
“A boyfriend?” Grandma Frida asked.
“No.”
“What about . . .”
“No,” Mom and I said in unison.
“But you don’t even know what I wanted to ask!”
“No,” we said again together.
“Party poopers. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
129
" Pretty speech,” he said.
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
“I know what’s really going on here. You’re scared to step into my world. Afraid you can’t hack it. Much better to hide here and be a big fish in a very small pond.”
“If that’s the way you see it, fine.” I raised my chin. “I have nothing to prove to you, Rogan.”
“But now I have something to prove to you,” he said. “I promise you, I will win, and by the time I’m done, you won’t walk, you’ll run to jump into my bed.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I told him.
All of his civilized veneer was gone now. The dragon faced me, teeth bared, claws out, breathing fire. “You won’t just sleep with me. You’ll be obsessed with me. You’ll beg me to touch you, and when that moment comes, we will revisit what happened here today.”
“Never in a million years.” I pointed at the doorway. “Exit is that—”
He grabbed me. His mouth closed on mine. His big body caged me in. His chest mashed my breasts. His arms pulled me to him, one across my back, the other cupping my butt. His magic washed over me in an exhilarating rush. My body surrendered. My muscles turned warm and pliant. My nipples tightened, my breasts ready to be squeezed, ready for his fingers and his mouth. An eager ache flared between my legs. My tongue licked his. God, I wanted him. I wanted him so badly.
He let me go, turned on his toes, and went out, laughing under his breath.
Aaargh! “That’s right! Keep . . . walking!”
I threw the wrench down.
“Now that was a kiss,” Grandma Frida said from the doorway behind me.
I jumped. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough. That man means business.”
All my words tried to come out at once. “I don’t . . . what . . . asshole! . . . screw himself for all I care!”
“Aww, young love, so passionate,” Grandma said. “I’m going to buy you a subscription to Brides magazine. You should start shopping for dresses.”
I waved my arms and walked away from her before I said something I would regret. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
130
" I can make you feel touched.” He paused. “It would be easier if I showed you. Do I have permission?”
Yes. “No.” Being touched by Mad Rogan wasn’t a good idea.
We kept walking. What would it be like?”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
How would it feel?
Would it feel . . . oh hell.
“Okay.” I stopped. We were in front of a small alcove. Nobody was around. If I made an idiot out of myself, nobody would notice. “Just once.”
A soft burst of heat touched the back of my neck. I’d never felt anything like it before. It was as if someone had touched me with a heated mink glove, but the touch wasn’t soft, it was firm. It felt . . . it felt . . .
The heat slid down my neck, fast, over my spine, setting every single nerve on fire before melting in the small of my back, its echoes pulsing through me. My body sang. He’d strummed me like I was a guitar. I wanted him and I wanted him now.
“That was . . .” I saw his eyes. Words died.
All the hardness had vanished from his eyes. They were alive and heated from within. “You want me.”
“What?”
The magic warmth slid over my shoulders, melting into pure pleasure.
“I feel the feedback.” He took a step toward me, grinning. “Nevada, you’re a liar.”
Uh-oh. I backed up. “What feedback?”
“When I do this . . .” The heated pressure zinged from my back up my ribs. I gasped. Oh dear God. “. . . what you feel loops back to me. I’m partially emphatic.”
“You didn’t mention that.” My heart was doing its best to break through my chest, and I couldn’t tell if it was alarm, lust, or some weird mix of both.
He grinned, coming closer. “The hotter you are, the hotter I am. And you’re on fire. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
131
" Shockers take six months of training and still occasionally kill their users. Why did you implant them in the first place?”
“Because you kidnapped me.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Mr. Rogan.” My voice frosted over. “What I put into my body is my business.”
Okay, that didn’t sound right. I gave up and marched out the doors into the sunlight. That was so dumb. Sure, try your magic sex touch on me, what could happen? My whole body was still keyed up, wrapped up in want and anticipation. I had completely embarrassed myself. If I could fall through the floor, I would.
“Nevada,” he said behind me. His voice rolled over me, tinted with command and enticing, promising things I really wanted.
You’re a professional. Act like one. I gathered all of my will and made myself sound calm. “Yes?”
He caught up with me. “We need to talk about this.”
“There is nothing to discuss,” I told him. “My body had an involuntary response to your magic.” I nodded at the poster for Crash and Burn II on the wall of the mall, with Leif Magnusson flexing with two guns while wrapped in flames. “If Leif showed up in the middle of this parking lot, my body would have an involuntary response to his presence as well. It doesn’t mean I would act on it.”
Mad Rogan gave Leif a dismissive glance and turned back to me. “They say admitting that you have a problem is the first step toward recovery.”
He was changing his tactics. Not going to work. “You know what my problem is? My problem is a homicidal pyrokinetic Prime whom I have to bring back to his narcissistic family.”
We crossed the road to the long parking lot. Grassy dividers punctuated by small trees sectioned the lot into lanes, and Mad Rogan had parked toward the end of the lane, by the exit ramp.
“One school of thought says the best way to handle an issue like this is exposure therapy,” Mad Rogan said. “For example, if you’re terrified of snakes, repeated handling of them will cure it.”
Aha. “I’m not handling your snake.”
He grinned. “Baby, you couldn’t handle my snake.”
It finally sank in. Mad Rogan, the Huracan, had just made a pass at me. After he casually almost strangled a woman in public. I texted to Bern, “Need pickup at Galeria IV.” Getting into Rogan’s car was out of the question. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
132
" You’re Mad Rogan!” Leon burst out.
“Yes,” Mad Rogan said, his voice calm.
“And you can break cities?”
“Yes.”
“And you have all this money and magic?”
“Yes.”
Where was Leon going with this?
My cousin blinked. “And you look . . . like that?”
Mad Rogan nodded. “Yes.”
Leon’s dark eyes went wide. He looked at Mad Rogan, then glanced down at himself. At fifteen, Leon weighed barely a hundred pounds. His arms and legs were like chopsticks.
“There is no justice in the world!” Leon announced.
I giggled and almost choked on my pancake. Mother cracked a smile.
“Can you play guitar too?” Leon asked. “Because if you can, I’ll go kill myself right now.”
“No, but I can sing a little,” Mad Rogan said.
“God damn it!” Leon punched the table.
“Calm yourself,” Bern told him.
“You shut up. You’re the size of Sasquatch. Leon pointed at Mad Rogan. “Are you seeing this? How is this fair?”
“He’s fifteen,” I told Mad Rogan. “Fair is very important right now.”
“You have time,” Mad Rogan said.
“Yeah . . .” Leon shook his head. “No, not really. I can’t sing for sure, and I’ll never look like that. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
135
" By the way,” Arabella said, “you might get a call from school. I forgot to mention it before.”
Mother paused. “Why?”
“Well, we were playing basketball and I guess I pulled on Diego’s jersey. I don’t even remember doing it. And Valerie decided it would be a good idea to snitch on me. I mean, I saw her walk over to the coach and pull on his sleeve like she was five or something. I even asked Diego if he cared, and he said he didn’t even notice. It’s a sport! I was into it.”
“Aha,” Mother said. “Get to the call-from-school part.”
“I told her that snitches get stitches. And Coach said that I made a terrorist threat.”
“That’s stupid,” Lina said, pushing back her dark hair. “It’s not a threat, it’s just a thing people say.”
“Snitches do get stitches.” Bern shrugged.
“Your school is stupid,” Grandma Frida said.
“So he said I had to apologize and I refused, since she snitched on me, so I got sent to the office. I’m not in trouble, but they want to move me to third-period PE now.”
Well, it could’ve been worse. At least she didn’t hurt anybody. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
136
" You’re Mad Rogan!” Leon burst out.
“Yes,” Mad Rogan said, his voice calm.
“And you can break cities?”
“Yes.”
“And you have all this money and magic?”
“Yes.”
Where was Leon going with this?
My cousin blinked. “And you look . . . like that?”
Mad Rogan nodded. “Yes.”
Leon’s dark eyes went wide. He looked at Mad Rogan, then glanced down at himself. At fifteen, Leon weighed barely a hundred pounds. His arms and legs were like chopsticks.
“There is no justice in the world!” Leon announced.
I giggled and almost choked on my pancake. Mother cracked a smile.
“Can you play guitar too?” Leon asked. “Because if you can, I’ll go kill myself right now.”
“No, but I can sing a little,” Mad Rogan said.
“God damn it!” Leon punched the table.
“Calm yourself,” Bern told him.
“You shut up. You’re the size of Sasquatch.” Leon pointed at Mad Rogan. “Are you seeing this? How is this fair?”
“He’s fifteen,” I told Mad Rogan. “Fair is very important right now.”
“You have time,” Mad Rogan said.
“Yeah . . .” Leon shook his head. “No, not really. I can’t sing for sure, and I’ll never look like that. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
137
" Mag Rogan and I stood on the edge of a cliff. Below us, the ground plunged so far down that it was as if the planet itself had ended at our feet. The wind tugged at my hair. He was wearing those dark pants again and nothing else. The hard muscle corded his torso, fueled by an overpowering, almost savage strength. Not the mindless brutality of a common thug or the cruel power of an animal, but an intelligent, stubborn, human strength. It was everywhere: in the set of his broad shoulders, in the turn of his head on a muscular neck, in the tilt of his square jaw. He turned to me and his whole body tightened, the muscles flexing and hardening, his hands ready to grip and crush, his eyes alert, missing nothing, and blazing with the brilliant electric blue of magic. I could picture him getting his sword and walking alone onto the drawbridge to defend his castle against a horde of invaders with that exact look on his face.
He was terrifying, and I wanted to run my hands down that chest and feel the hard ridges of his abs. I was some special kind of idiot.
Magic roiled about him, ferocious and alive, a pet monster with vicious teeth. He moved toward me, bringing it with him. “Tell me about Adam Pierce.”
I reached over and put my hand on his chest. His skin was burning hot. The muscle tensed under my fingers. An eager electric shiver ran through me. I wanted to lean against that chest and kiss the underside of that jaw, tasting his sweat on my tongue. I wanted him to like it.
“What happened to the boy?” I asked. “The one who destroyed a city in Mexico? Is he still inside?”
“Nevada!” My mother’s voice cut through my dreams like a knife.
I sat straight up in my bed.
Okay. I was either way more messed up inside, or Mad Rogan was a strong projector and could shoot images straight into my mind. Either way was bad. What happened to the boy . . . I needed to have my head examined. "
― Ilona Andrews , Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy, #1)
